


Tea and Plans of Years to Come

by Foggy16



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018)
Genre: Freddie Mercury (mentioned) - Freeform, Gen, John Deacon (mentioned) - Freeform, Light Angst, Male Friendship, Sickfic (sort of), light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 19:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18079913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foggy16/pseuds/Foggy16
Summary: Brian waits to talk to a dear friend about the uncertain future.  Surely everything can't be gone forever, can it?





	Tea and Plans of Years to Come

**Author's Note:**

> My first Bohemian Rhapsody fic. This takes place mostly in the movie universe, with some reference to real life events. Special thank yous to ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden) and LydianNode for writing wonderful stories that inspired some of these headcanons. Also, I know Brian did put out a solo album, but I’m sticking with the movie on that point.

“Summer colds are the worst,” Brian May thought moodily as he poked at the logs in the rather large fireplace. Chrissie had taken the children to her mother's house for god alone knew how long. He really hadn't bothered to ask. It was funny how he and his wife lived in the same house but they seldom spoke to each other anymore. His marriage being on the rocks was the least of his present worries, however. Now what weighed on his overly active, tired mind was what he was going to say to Roger and John about Freddie, Jim, and a proposed meeting. 

Looking out from the large bay window which cast daylight in his dark library, Brian sighed heavily. The overcast, drizzling sky just matched his troubled mood. He reached for a tissue and dabbed at his nose before he pushed himself up from the comfortable wingback chair. Roger's black convertible was speeding up his drive and Brian had an amused half thought about that old car song of his friend's. If things were less serious Brian might have laughed. He'd asked Roger to come an hour before John arrived, mostly because Brian just missed his oldest friend. With a relationship on the rocks and no band to speak of, Brian just wanted to have words with the one person in the world he knew he could be himself with.

Meeting Roger at the door as soon as the engine died, Brian threw long, thin arms around the blond and squeezed him tightly. Roger returned the hug enthusiastically, even as he hissed in Brian's ear, “if you get me sick I swear to God I'll murder you.”

Brian laughed as he pulled away, coughing into his fist. “Sorry, sorry. I'll be sure to keep my germs to myself. Though I would think you'd have better sense than to drive here with the top down in the rain if you didn't want to get sick.”

“I hardly call this rain. It's not pouring buckets or anything. This is just a step above fog, really. Now that you mention it, however.” Roger went out to the curving drive and put his top back up. He didn't mind driving in a little rain, but sitting on wet leather wasn't his idea of a good time. When Roger returned to the house he found Brian pouring out tea for the pair of them, looking and acting for all the world like a proper, formal host, rather than Roger's best friend.

Brian's formality lasted only long enough for him to offer Roger sugar, cream, and other refreshments, then he slumped back against the chair again and coughed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. Brian wrapped his long fingers around his teacup and let the steam work on his clogged sinuses before he opened his eyes again and focused on Roger. The fire was warm and he was half sleepy already, but there was business to attend to. He could nap after Roger and John went back home. “So, I want to talk to you about all this… this mess we find ourselves in.”

Roger had been stirring his own tea, and he looked up, frowning. “Not sure what there is to talk about now, Bri. All the talking’s done with, isn't it?”

“Yes and no. I mean, I told you what Jim told me. Freddie wants to talk. Honestly, I don't know what that means and I don't really know if I care. But I know I can't… I physically and mentally cannot keep moping around the house like Casper the most depressed ghost. It's not healthy. And I'm pretty sure you feel the same way, if I'm not very much mistaken.”

Roger gave Brian a sharp look, then sighed and leaned forward. “Okay so we talk to Freddie, he talks through his hat at us, and we all go our own ways again. You see something else happening? Bless you.”

Brian sneezed twice into a napkin, then touched his aching temples. “Thanks. Excuse me. Anyway, what were we… oh, yeah.” Brian opened his eyes again and met Roger's. “Look, I'm just going to tell you everything. My marriage might as well be over. Chrissie and I… we don't even fight anymore, and I can't remember the last time we had a conversation, or even exchanged anything longer than a few words. We just sort of, I don't know, exist in the same house. I spend a lot of time in here,” he motioned around the good sized library with it heavy, dark shelves and hundreds, if not thousands of books. “And she takes the children with her almost everywhere she goes. I hardly see my family anymore. I know I have a few options here. I could go back to the university and finish my degree. That's always been a plan in the back of my head. But I'm on the wrong end of thirty-five now, closer to forty, and I might be a little late for that dream. The last thing I want is to be mistaken for one of the teaching staff, after all.” Brian is only half resigned to his fate, but he's not wanting to go into too much detail. “I could always do what Freddie did, and set out on my own, but I'm not sure I have it in me to put out an album by myself.” His eyes grew more intense and Brian leaned forward on his knees, looking into Roger's eyes. He'd beaten around the bush enough and neither of those options were really appealing to him right yet. “Or, if all this falls flat and Freddie is still a prick and John wants nothing more to do with any of us, there's always you and me.”

Roger had listened to Brian think out loud and wasn't really sure what any of this had to do with him until the last part. He looked at Brian's tired, sad, wan face and wondered if he was feverish. The impulse to feel his forehead was almost too hard to resist. “What are you talking about Bri? We can't keep Queen going without a bassist, and certainly not without a lead singer. You and I can't carry the vocals that long.”

“I'm not talking about Queen, Rog, I'm talking about Smile.” Brian huffed a laugh when Roger's cool hand went under his bangs, feeling how warm he was. “I'm not delirious or anything like that, I swear. I just… you guys were my brothers. Even if I never get Freddie and Deaky back, I still want… I still need you, Roger. You've been my constant best friend for so many years and I can't be away from that anymore. I still want to play music and I don't want just anyone there with me.” 

Roger wasn't sure if the soft tremble in Brian's voice is from illness or emotion, but either way, he had an uncomfortable feeling that if he were to deny that pleading look in the too bright eyes, he would have killed something vital. He'd be no better than Freddie when he himself had accused him of killing Queen. Roger nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “Okay, it's a deal. Come whoever else, you and I stick together. Whether it be Queen, Smile, or we think of a better name than either of those, we're gonna be a team. But let's see what we can save from our wreckage of a band before we rush into a new venture. As you say, neither of us are getting any younger and starting over is almost impossible in this market.”

Brian relaxed when Roger agrees, and sipped his tea again, watching Roger over the rim of his cup. He really couldn't taste much of anything, even though he'd brewed it strong purposefully, hoping that the caffeine with take away the mounting headache and sleepiness. If he was going to even try to make an argument with John he needed all of his fast talking and logic about him.

Of them all, John had been closest to Freddie. He considered Freddie to be his voice, someone who would take up for him when John couldn't find the right words. Or, indeed, any words at all. And Freddie had cut him the deepest, both Brian and Roger could see that. At least Freddie remembered what they had both studied. “For the life of me, nothing comes to mind”. Brian had winced for John when Freddie said those words, but John's face hadn't changed. After that exchange John left the room without a word, leaving Brian and Roger staring at each other in bewilderment, unsure of what had just happened. They only knew that half of the band had walked out of the room, leaving them both in stunned silence.

That had been upwards of two years ago and now they were both sitting and looking at each other again. Only now neither of them were uncomfortable or worried about the future. Not at the moment. Right now they had each other again and felt like brothers. Roger had always been the brother Brian had yearned for as a child, and even with the limited contact, Brian saw all too clearly that they would be able to start right where they left off again without much hassle. It might not be that way with John. In fact, it probably wouldn't be that way with John. John could be painfully emotionally distant at times, the band's time in Munich proved that. Besides, John and Brian had locked horns the most during that turbulent time and Brian had an uneasy feeling that John had never quite let any of that go. The good thing about someone with a temper like Roger's was that it normally flared up then simmered down after a burst of violence. John's temper was slow, but unforgiving. Sometimes Brian felt as if John was still writing insulting songs about him, although to be fair, that could be the work of an overactive, slightly paranoid imagination. Brian banned more thoughts of John and his sometimes vindictive spirit from his mind and leaned forward towards the kettle. “More tea Rog?” He filled the outstretched cup, sipped his own, and allowed himself to bask in the glow of being with his oldest and dearest friend. For ten more minutes, at least.


End file.
